Replica
by LucidFerrofluid
Summary: After the events in The Gift, Willow tries to repair the Buffybot. No one is very comfortable coping with the bot now that Buffy is gone, but Spike has to deal with taking it back to Willow to fix after it begins to show up at his crypt again. Mentions of Spike/Buffy.


_There's something I could have done differently._  
It's the only thing he can think anymore.  
Laying down, the gray field of the crypt's ceiling offers no more of an answer now than it has for the past 3 hours. But no matter how much he wonders on it, it won't change the reality that she's gone now.  
Dully, Spike thinks that he should make a trip to the butcher's while he still has some time. But what difference would it make? The packaged blood would still be lukewarm and taste as horrible as ever.

There's a sound from the door upstairs, and his leg twitches in reaction, from habit of getting ready to spring up. He decides not to move this time, though. He ponders whether or not he has the energy in him to fight it, if it's some demon.  
Whatever it is, it sounds wrong for a human - close, but not quite. He listens as the door shuts again, and light footsteps proceed through the crypt and down the steps. He stands up now, almost unwillingly, preparing himself to face whatever this thing is.

The intruder appears at the bottom of the stairs in dainty shoes, grinning brightly from behind the golden hair that frames her face.  
"Spike!" The bot says, voice gratingly cheery.

He tries to let his mind catch up with him before the thing runs to embrace him, holding him tightly. He's at a loss on how to react.  
This has to be the Witch's fault. But why? Had they fixed her - _it_ \- to help patrol?  
Figures, no one would tell him anything.  
This isn't Buffy. Buffy is dead now. All this is is a twisted, embarrassing reminder.  
Why wouldn't they mention it to him, before sending the bot out again? Did they think he'd never see it? Or did they just not care?

He holds the thing away from him, feeling sick, wondering why he shouldn't break the stupid machine to pieces and send it back to the Witch again. _'Try and fix the bloody thing now,'_ he'd say.  
"Willow woke me up," the bot chirps, "She said she fixed me. Aren't you glad? She told me to go patrolling, and I did."  
The thing pauses, a beat to wait for a response from him, unperturbed at the social implication when he does nothing but scowl back. "But I wanted to see you. I'm all hot from slaying again, Spike. Do you want to feel?"

Rage flashes through him as he stares into its stupid, glassy dead eyes. It's some morbid mockery of Buffy's memory, existing now only to taunt him.  
 _There has to be some reason Red's turned it back on_ , he thinks with a steeling breath. He can't bring himself to smash it up when it's giving him that expectant smile, brainless as it is. It looks too much like her.

A moment goes by in silence, and the bot is starting to look confused now. "Spike? Are you broken now, too?"

He takes its hand. "Red didn't fix you proper, pet," he finds himself saying, the hot intensity of the anger suddenly gone. The words come out in a defeated tone, not that the bot could know to react with sympathy. He half wishes it would. "Come along and we'll bring you back."

"I don't feel broken. Would you like me to check for errors?" The bot asks as he leads it up the stairs.  
"No, Buffy...bot. Red will know what to do," he says, though he wonders why he doesn't just tell it to shut up and stay quiet until they get there.  
It's a little nice to hear Buffy's voice again.

"OK, Spike."  
She's silent the rest of the way.

* * *

Spike lets go of the bot's hand when he knocks on the door to 1630 Revello Drive. The lights are still on inside, so he knows someone must still be awake.  
Willow answers, looking worried.

"Spike! You found the bot?" She asks, looking it up and down for damage. "We sent her out alone this time, it seemed to be working right."  
"Hello Willow, my gay friend," the bot greets. "Spike said that you didn't fix me proper."

"She... It came to my crypt," he affirms, and Willow finally notices the way his jaw is set, a muscle there ticking with anger.

"Oh," Willow says, demeanor changing, "I didn't mean - I tried to fix it. We need it here, so Dawn can stay, and to help, you know. So the demons don't think..."  
She trails off, starts again. "I'll take another look at it. Spike, I'm sor-"  
"Fix it. Next time you're getting it back as a box full of broken bits," he growls at her.

Willow bites her lip, looking after the vampire as he strides away furiously.  
"Spike was angry," the bot says, turning to Willow conversationally.  
"Yes, Buffybot," Willow says back patiently, grabbing it by its shoulder to lead it inside.  
"It excites me when he's angry. He could bite me, if he wanted, even though he's evil."

Willow sighs and feels for the off button after shutting the door, glad Dawn isn't awake to hear it talk like that. Tara had stayed up with her to wait for the bot to come back, and the demure blonde is perched on the couch, regarding Willow with a worried look. Willow is thankful when she doesn't comment on the conversation she knows was overheard.

 _I thought I'd fixed it,_ Willow thinks in frustration as the bot slumps, powered off.  
 _Instead, I ended up sending it to harass Spike._

She prepares herself for another sleepless night of trying to re-program the replica of her dead best friend.

* * *

Spike manages to sleep through the next day. He dreams that it was the real Buffy that came to his crypt the night before. That lifeless, plastic smile is replaced by her real one.  
"Spike," she greets him, her voice warm, and real, and good. He can hear her heartbeat, too, and he can nearly remember the sensation of what it's like for his own to skip a beat at the wonderful sight. She waves her hand when he starts to get up, to go to her, indicating for him to stay where he lays. She walks to him, instead, and bends to kiss him when she finally reaches him. A quick peck, first, but then she's straddling him and their lips are meeting together fervently. He can't experience enough at her at once.  
He kisses her back eagerly, hands searching, touching, making sure that she's real again, really here - "Spike," she repeats, pulling away...

It's the bot that's on him. He can tell before he even opens his eyes.  
"Spike," it repeats in that vexing, sing-song voice.  
The thing is holding a stake to his chest, like from before - It had been one of the programs. He gazes at the bot, hating it.  
"Do it," he says, flat voice sounding strange to his own ears.  
"Ooh, Spike, I just _can't,_ " it laments, hips grinding against him fruitlessly, "I can't resist your sexy, evil allure!" It tosses the chunk of wood aside.

He wraps an arm around it, sliding a hand beneath its shirt to slip up its back, searching. It makes an appreciative noise, before raking its nails down his chest until its hands reach his belt and begin to fumble with the clasp.  
Finally, his fingers find the button located on its back. It bends forward on to him awkwardly when it's powered off, but he manages to scoop it into his arms and swing his legs over the slab he'd been resting on.

He stands with the both of them, and begins the walk to... He realizes he doesn't know who's house to call it, now.  
It's not 'Buffy's house' anymore.

* * *

"Still buggy?" The red-head answers the door sheepishly, knowing that her words are an understatement but unsure of what she can do or say to make up for it.  
The bot was made for Spike to begin with, and she has to work around it now. She hadn't shared with anyone else what the specifics of some of the files she'd had to sort through were.  
He knows that, she thinks, and it's probably half the reason it's making him so angry to see it. No one has been happy looking at it - it's awkward, and horrible, and not the real Buffy. But it's necessary for them.  
 _At least no one else has to deal with the kind of embarrassment Spike does when the bot... Acts out like that,_ she thinks, not for the first time, but knows she can't really do or say anything to the vampire that will make him feel better about that.

He ignores her question. He heaves the bot into Willow's arms, forcing her to quickly cradle it awkwardly to the floor in lieu of dropping it. "Fix it," he says, and his words lack the threat they did last time.  
He turns and leaves, dejected.

* * *

He finally goes to fetch blood the next night, the hunger being too uncomfortable to ignore any longer.  
He tosses the plastic bag into the fridge upon his return, save for one packet. The ones fresh from the butcher's are sometimes still warm - not hot, but still better than the taste that resulted from it being warmed artificially. He takes it to the sofa, turning on the telly.  
He bites into the side of the bag with more enthusiasm than he intended, suddenly reminded of how ravenous he is. It tastes better than usual, and he has it done in a few short seconds.

He wonders if he should go back to the Scooby gang, offer to help them patrol with the bot.  
They probably don't want him there, though. Xander never does, Willow and Tara pity him, Anya has about as much personality as the bot itself, and Dawn... Well, he'd promised Buffy he'd help look out for her. He isn't sure if Dawn would like him there anyway.  
Besides, if the bot is still acting the way it had been, it wouldn't be good for anyone to see them in the same room together.

And as if it has chosen the perfect time to compliment his thoughts, the bot has come to bother him again.  
He doesn't even need to listen and see who it is this time - he can tell. He doesn't acknowledge it when it enters, and keeps his eyes trained on the television screen.  
Passions is on. The stupid bot is going to irk him too much to pay attention to it, though. He damn well knows it.  
"Willow says I can't be your lover anymore, Spike," it says, its voice a hollow imitation of sadness. It pouts prettily at him.

He wonders why the Witch can't erase its memories of it having happened at all. She was supposed to be tech savvy - what trouble was she having, tinkering with the bot? Warren hadn't taken this long to piece together and program the entire thing, had he?  
"That's good," he assures it. Maybe it will help.

"You wanted me to hide it from them before," the bot reasons.  
"Yeah, I did. But we can't now." He hopes the short response won't brook any questions.  
"I told you I loved you, and you said I was yours."  
It sounds almost petulant now.  
He's tired of trying. Every thing he has to say to the bot feels like it's leeching him.

He stands, resigned. Walks to the bot and awkwardly reaches behind it to fumble for the button located there.  
"Spike, please don't power me off again."  
He pauses, stunned, and leans back to see its face again. The thing gives him a melancholy smile.

"Sorry," he mumbles, and the bot gives a final quiet whirring sound before it falls forward into his arms.

* * *

"Oh, I-" Willow begins, pale and exhausted-looking from the doorway.

He passes the bot to her, cutting her off.

"Fix it."

She starts to respond, but just lets out a sigh as she watches him leave again, and brings the bot inside.

* * *

The bot doesn't show up again the next night.

He realizes it when he begins to grow tired, and he knows the sun is rising outside.  
He's left to gaze at the ceiling, alone with his thoughts.

He almost wishes she would have.  
It was a little nice to hear Buffy's voice again.


End file.
